I am pregnant. My eyes fill with tears. How can I be happy and so fucking scared at the same time? What will Linc say? Will he be excited or as freaked out as me?
“Will you turn that fucking phone off? I'm trying to take a damn nap.” My mom bangs on the bathroom door.
“Sorry,” I shout back, grabbing the phone out of my bag. “Hey,” I answer.
“You okay? I’ve been calling since school got out.”
“Yeah. What’s going on?” I hear Nick and Benjy in the background, clearly excited about something.
“We signed, Cherry. We have a label.”
“I knew it.” I burst into tears. I don’t know if they’re happy, sad or everything in between. “You did it.”
“I love you so damn much, baby. We’re going to have it all.” I cry hard. He’s getting everything he’s ever wanted.
“I love you too.” I sit down on the floor, tucking my legs into my body. “Tell me everything.” I close my eyes, listening to his voice. It’s the one thing that has always grounded me. My news will have to wait for another time.
Chapter Eleven
Linc
I’m on edge. Nick and Benjy would say it’s because we are about to take the stage at the Troubadour, a legendary LA nightclub. It is the right reason to be nervous. This club has hosted everyone from Elton John and Tom Waits to Joni Mitchell. Playing on the same stage as those legends would give anyone butterflies. I think that’s why Nick’s already broken one drumstick and Benjy can’t stop fiddling with his bass strings, but I’m not worried about our set at all. There’s never been a time where we’ve practiced more or a period where we’ve been so completely immersed in our music from the time we get up until we go to bed.
We’ve been in the studio with beatmakers and songwriters who have written such huge hits that I feel like I don’t belong in the same room as them. And I’m having fun working with all these legends and icons. The music that we’ve been making is the best we’ve ever laid down.
I should be on the top of the world and I’m almost there. Like, I’m right below the apex but I can’t stop thinking about—and missing—Cherry. Even now as we’re about to step out into the spotlight, I feel off as if my guitar is slightly out of tune or I’m half a beat slow. All the lyrics coming out of me are sad as fuck, too, even for the bops.
Jerry, one of the beatmakers who has created tracks for the biggest artists in the world, says that he’s never heard a guy who is so in love make songs so full of sorrow. The one that everyone agrees will be the lead single is about how there’s no sound in my life anymore. I’m alone and the bed’s so cold / the night’s still / even the crickets aren’t chirping / poured myself a beer / turned the tv on / but there’s no sound and my heart’s still hurting
Cherry and I aren’t breaking up. That’s not ever going to happen, but it does feel like I’m missing a limb. She’s back home and I’m here, and even though the lights are about to be brighter and hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced, it doesn’t feel completely right.
I want her here bad, but there’s a tiny part of me that acknowledges this label signing, this path I’m taking, might fall through. And if it does fall through, I’ll be back in Shindale with my tail between my legs begging for that factory job. Cherry needs her high school diploma because she’s got a whole thing called college as an option. I can’t fuck with that. I’m not that selfish.
“You with us?” Nick slaps me on the back with one of his drumsticks.
It’s a hard and sharp feeling, but one that gets my attention, which was his intention. I nod because I’m the leader and if I don’t give out the right energy, the whole set will suck. “Never better.”
“Fucking liar,” he says. His tone is more worried than mad.
“First time at the Troubadour. The head of our new label is out front, taking a heat check on the crowd. We’re playing a couple of songs we just whipped up in the last two weeks. Of course, I’m a little nervous.”
“Bullshit.” Benjy joins us on my other side. “It’s Cherry.”
“Yeah. She’s not going to be sitting left of stage.”
“Would you two shut up?” Hearing them say what I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about is only making matters worse. I roll my shoulders back and jump in place to loosen up.
“What’s the problem?” Our new manager, Hal, has come over. I made the suggestion that Cherry be our manager. She was the one that sent the song to Treat in the first place, but everyone jumped down my throat over the idea. Cherry was too young. She didn’t have any connections. I would ruin her life taking her out of school and forcing her to deal with assholes in the industry who think that a woman’s place is on her back or knees. It was the last one that made me pipe down.
“He’s missing Cherry,” Nick says before I can tell him to shut up.
“She’s been at every gig since we started,” Benjy chimes in.
“She has, has she?” Treat gives me a look as if weighing whether signing me is already a mistake.
“Some guys are addicted to drugs and alcohol. I’ve got one weakness. It’s Cherry at my port of call,” I quip. “Nah, I’m going to be fine. This is the Troubadour, after all.”
“You writing lyrics as we talk is why I signed you.” Treat clamps a hard hand on my shoulder right above the space where Nick lashed me. Don’t fuck up, his eyes say.
“I got an idea,” Hal says. He holds up a giant teddy bear—the kind that scares the shit out of you when you stumble downstairs to get a glass of water and you spy it out of the corner of your eye, looming on the sofa where no one should be sitting that time of night. “This is going to sit where Cherry usually does. In the morning, we’ll get your girl to send us a shirt or something and this bear will wear it while you do your gigs.”
“That’s not a bad plan,” Nick says.
Benjy nods. “Yeah, that works, don’t it, Linc?”
“Why not?” I actually have a better idea but I’ll put that into action after the gig is over. “Thanks, Hal.”
The short man smiles. “That’s what I’m here for—to solve your problems.”
The set goes off without a hitch. The crowd is fucking insane. We do three encores and there are so many people that want to meet us that we don’t get out of the club until four hours after our set ended. Only Nick and Benjy know this isn’t the best performance I’ve given. The next day only one review of ten mentions the giant teddy bear in the midst of talking about our fresh new sound and how we’re bringing rock back into the mainstream. We’re on our way, Treat says. I nod and smile and place the order. If I’m going to have a teddy bear in place of Cherry, it’s not wearing something of hers. It’s got to have skin to skin contact.
Sleep with this would you, baby? I write in the notes box of the order. I can’t play without you here and since you can’t be with me, this is the next best thing. I love you.